Mark Rogers - The Dead

She fell silent.

“My parents sold the house to this NRA-type from North Jersey,” Steve told the others. “We had dinner over there once after Ginger died. Big gun rack down the basement. He used to come down from Scotch Plains on summer weekends. Real paranoid.”

“What kind of guns?” Max asked.

“All kinds. And ammo.”

Max looked at him suspiciously. “Why didn’t you tell us about this before?”

Steve shrugged. “Just forgot, I guess. We weren’t real close to the guy.”

Max turned to Sally. “Why don’t you want to go back there?” he asked.

“It’s nothing,” she said, looking away.

“It’s personal,” Steve said. “You know about personal, Max? They teach you about that in the Corps?”

“Are we going to stay here all day?” Gary asked. “We’ll get mighty cold.”

“I was thinking we might go up into the pavilion,” Max said.

“Look,” Steve said, “why don’t we just head off to that house now? We could stay under the boardwalk just about all the way. The house is only half a block from the beach. We could be there in forty-five minutes.”

“Let’s do it, Max,” Linda said, shivering.

Max looked suspiciously at Steve, but nodded.

The journey under the boards was uneventful. Walking where they had the headroom, going on all fours where the sand was high, they made their way north, stopping finally where Murchison Street abutted on the walk. The street was empty, flanked by rows of splendid old houses, which had been the style before the bungalows began to go up.

“It’s that tan one,” Steve said. “Three down on the left.”

They waited a few minutes, watching and listening, then slipped from under the boardwalk to make their way through the backyards of the homes on the left.

“Hope he didn’t change the locks,” he said as they came up behind the house. Producing a keyring, he had the cellar door open in moments. Wooden steps led downward, but Steve remained at the top with Sally as the others descended…Gary heard them whispering. What on earth was the problem?

Gary looked around. The basement was spacious and well furnished. Steel posts supported the ceiling, rising up out of a carpeted floor. Rippled glass-block windows admitted the ruddy sunlight.

The gun-rack was on the far side of the cellar, between a bookcase and what Gary guessed was the door of a utility room.

Steve finally managed to get Sally down the steps, but she balked after that, pointing to the utility-room door.

“It’s still closed,” she said. “Steve…”

“Yeah,” he answered in a flat voice. “I see it.”

“Would you mind telling me what’s going on with you two?” Max demanded.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve answered.

“What’s behind that door?” Max asked.

“Nothing.”

Max took the rifle from Gary. “You mind if I look for myself?”

Steve shook his head, but Gary could see he was agitated. Sally whispered something in Steve’s ear as Max headed for the door.

“Maybe it just swung shut by itself,” Steve said.

Max put an ear up against the door. He listened for a few moments, then looked back at Steve.

“If there’s something in there I should know about,” he said, “You’d better tell me now. Because I’m going to get real pissed if something happens.”

Sally opened her mouth, but closed it again after a glare from Steve.

“Actually, now that I think of it,” Max said, stepping back, “Why don’t you open the door, Steve?”

Steve shrugged. Crossing the room, he smiled at Max.

Max smiled back, thinly. “I’ll cover you.”

All in one quick motion, Steve turned the knob and tossed the door open. After a moment’s hesitation, he went inside and laughed. Max went in beside him.

“What did I tell you?” Steve asked.

Max came back out. “Nothing,” he told the others. “Water-heater, gas-furnace.”

Steve reappeared, shut the door behind him.

“Let’s get some guns,” he said quickly, as if to preclude any further discussion about the utility-room.

They went to the rack, broke the glass with an ashtray. The actions on most of the weapons proved frozen. But that still left a Mossberg 590 shotgun, a Marlin lever action rifle, and three automatic pistols, all copies of Colt.45’s put out by various lesser-known arms companies.

“Guy really liked Colt autos, huh?” Max said.

Steve took one; so did Father Chuck and Sally.

“Sally…” Steve groaned as his wife grabbed her pistol.

“I’m not taking it from someone else,” she answered hotly.

Gary got the shotgun, Linda the rifle. Max used his machete to pry open the rack’s drawers, and found all the ammo they needed.

And all the while, Gary noticed, Steve and Sally kept glancing toward the utility room door. Gary started shoving cartridges into his shotgun.

“You sure you don’t want this?” he asked Max, indicating the weapon.

“I’ll stick with the H and K for a while,” Max answered. “I’m sick of tangling with ‘em so close up. Think I’ll just stand off and kneecap them.” Gary had already given him the remaining magazines.

“Suit yourself,” Gary said. The Mossberg’s magazine took nine shells. Chambering a tenth, he looked at Sally, who seemed more jittery than ever.

“I think I’ll go wait on the steps,” she announced, and started for the back door.

“The outside steps?” Gary asked. “What if they spot you through that door up there?”

“Just wait, honey,” Steve said reassuringly. “We’re all going to have to leave anyway.”

“ What? ” Max asked. “I thought you wanted to hole up here for the day.”

“Changed my mind,” Steve answered. “Believe me, we want to get out of here.”

“Not till you give me an explanation,” Max answered.

“Shhh!” Father Chuck hissed.

They turned to see a shadowy pair of legs stop by a glass-block window on the left side of the basement, distorted by the ripples in the glass.

Max went silently to the back door, turned the lock on the doorknob, then threw the deadbolt.

“Gary,” Max whispered, motioned toward the stairs to the first floor. Gary went up, locked the door.

As he came back down, he became aware of a hollow scraping noise, but couldn’t tell where it was coming from; then came a scuffle of feet on the outside stairs, and his attention flashed to the back door. The women and Father Chuck were slowly backing away from it. He went over by Max and Steve, eyes fixed on the doorknob.

It began to twist slowly, first right, then left. Everyone in the basement had gone dead silent, and Gary heard the mechanism clicking softly.

That, and the scraping, growing more insistent by the second.

The knob spun back to the right. Something snapped, and the knob dipped, hanging slack.

But that still left the deadbolt. The door stood firm under a tentative blow. Feet scuffled back up the steps outside.

Gary relaxed, just a bit-then noticed, out of the corner of his eye, the shadowy figure at the window crouching down and putting its hands up on either side of its face, as if to get a better look through the distorted panes.

Won’t see a damn thing, Gary thought.

The shape struck at the glass. There was a hollow bong! , and the figure paused before punching again, as though it had never expected mere glass to be so hard. The block took two more blows before its outer layer even cracked.

That proved enough for the would-be intruder. The shadow vanished from the window.

And all the while, the scraping on the far side of the basement grew louder. Gary turned, looking for the source of the noise. The sound drew him over to the utility room door-